The Art of Not Feeling
by Booksnake3
Summary: For all of us who are still crying over BotFA...here, come cry some more. One version of what happened to Tauriel after the film. SPOILER WARNING
1. Chapter 1

_If you haven't yet seen BotFA, turn back now._

_Otherwise, carry on :'(_

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The last week of summer reigned upon the lush green lands between Mirkwood and the Misty Mountains, bathing the vibrant flowers and singing birds in hazy golden light from early dawn to lingering dusk. Moths and butterflies fluttered between bushes of lilac and buddleia, and a house stood alone in the landscape, boxed by a neat but very much living garden, the thatched roof and wooden beams glowing with a warm health that reflected the mood of the majority of its occupants. From a wooden cradle swaddled in patchwork crocheted blankets, a baby gurgled happily and stared up with wide blue eyes as it touched the large nose leaning over it with one tiny finger.

Tauriel could not look at it. She sat in the smallest room of the house, as far away from the joyful sounds as she could get, cloaked in darkness of her own design. It had become her refuge for two days now, even though Beorn insisted that she should at least get some fresh air or spend time doing something other than crying or staring off into the distance, but she couldn't bear that the world was so happy when she herself could not see a single light at the end of the tunnel. Her world was ending but not in the way that she wished, and even if it were to grant her one wish right now she would still have eternity to wait before she could be happy again. Tears that she thought had long dried up appeared in her eyes once more, and fell slowly into her lap, each one nine months too late to save him.

Five months ago, she had been headed for the Shire. It was a place she had only heard tales of, but by all accounts it was the most peaceful place in Middle Earth, and most importantly, it was far away. Far away from everything that had happened, far away from her home, far away from the mountain that should have been his. That had been early spring, however, and for the North that was hardly better than winter. Her supplies should have lasted for several more months but a torrential rainstorm on the eastern slopes of the Misty Mountains had washed half of them away and left Tauriel stranded and weak. She still wasn't sure that she was glad Beorn had rescued her. She knew she wished that he hadn't insisted on keeping her in and preventing her travelling further until the baby was born, no matter whose sake it was for.

And now, despite the fact that her strength should have been returning, Tauriel did not know if she ever would leave this place again. Over the summer months her health had only deteriorated and apart from the bump of her belly she had become thinner and thinner, in spite of Beorn's diligent efforts to feed her up. Now the bump was gone and she could feel every bone in her body through her pale and almost translucent skin. There was no illness that the shape-shifter could identify but there was illness nonetheless and for once, Tauriel could not bring herself to care. She did not know if she even cared to breathe again. Everything was painful, and no medicine could make it better.

After all these months, love still hurt.

The baby had no name. Beorn had asked twice, but each time she had given no reply and, bless his gentle furry soul, the shape-shifter had not pressed for an answer. She wasn't sure if she could ever bring herself to name the child that brought such pain to her heart.

His hair was dark. That had been the first thing Tauriel had noticed in her delirious state when Beorn had first held out the tiny babe to her, and that in itself had been enough to bring more tears to her eyes, sprung from a different sort of pain. Hardly able to bear looking longer but forcing herself to nonetheless, Tauriel had seen bright blue eyes in the tiny pale face, and those had brought with them a wash of sorrow and regret.

_The laughing, caring brother who had been the first to die._

_The king who reclaimed his kingdom but never was given the chance to rule it._

_A prince, of a different sort, whom Tauriel had loved in a different way but been unable to follow into the North._

_The cold eyes of one who had long perfected the art of not feeling. The art which Tauriel was yet to learn and wondered if she ever could._

A fresh wave of sobs wracked Tauriel's body as she remembered the day. Every moment of that fateful hour was branded into the back of her eyelids and no matter how much she tried to forget it she could never picture either of Erebor's princes any more without the accompanying image of their wide, lifeless eyes and grimaces of pain, frozen the way they were when the young souls - too young, by far - departed this life.

They had been scared. They hadn't wanted to die, just when they had so much to live for. They had done nothing to deserve it; seventy-seven - at that age Tauriel had been barely able to put an arrow to string, much less take on a battalion of elite orcs single handedly. She had wanted to blame it on their uncle, but despite his failings where gold was concerned, the dwarven king had genuinely cared for his nephews and she had seen his pain when the golden haired prince had fallen, limp, into the snow beneath that dreaded tower. That King had also paid for the mountian's gold in blood.

Part of Tauriel wished it had ended for her then, too, up on Ravenhill. She had almost begged the orc to finish her, but vengeance would not allow it. She had done her best, and condemned herself to live with the pain it brought afterwards. Oh Aulë, before that moment she had not known what real pain felt like. Of all people, she would not have expected her King to be the one who understood, but now she knew just how real her love had been, and just how cruelly it had been torn away and left her with the cutting shards of her heart and the last direct heir of Durin.

The last direct heir of Durin. It was laughable - the true heir of Erebor, half Elven? Absurd. And yet it was true, and it was clear, and it was the most painful thing of all when Tauriel looked into that child's face and saw her love looking back at her. While the baby itself was small - dangerously small, even - for an elf child, the head had been chubby and rounded and when it laughed, the smile, oh the smile; it was as if the dwarf himself had returned to her and was staring right into her soul again, if one looked past the blue eyes. But of course, Tauriel knew that he wasn't returning and never would. To remind herself of the fact, as she had done every morning since that Battle, tore the shards of her heart into even smaller pieces until it was beyond repair and she knew it.

Then there was the beard. Oh Aulë have mercy, the lad had the faintest hint of soft dark tufts of hair growing on his chin. Then, to counteract that, his ears seemed to take on the slightest point. Tauriel couldn't handle it. It was as if he was just there to remind her of what once was and could have been, then to sink the knife deeper by reminding her that that future had been torn away in an instant.

Beorn had shown kindness beyond words before and ever since her arrival here, and despite first impressions, the bear man had shown considerable skill caring for the baby. She could tell, even though she had not set eyes on her child since his birth. She supposed that she should not be surprised; by the number of animals to be found around the house, Beorn had to be the adopted father of hundreds of creatures over his lifetime.

Tauriel highly doubted that a Dwelf had ever been one of them. The little one - how would he ever find his place in life? Where did a half-breed of two races that despised each other fit in? He would forever be an outcast, shunned by his blood on both sides, unable to settle down or find love in this cruel, harsh world. There was nowhere that would ever truly accept him, and Tauriel wondered if by chance she had ended up in the house of the one person who would not discriminate against her child. But Beorn had done enough already; she could ask no more of him. She would not press upon him the young burden.

It was all her fault and there was no denying it; the number of times she could have turned back, or done something slightly different that might have altered the course of fate, was so overwhelming that she felt sick every time she remembered how things did turn out and how she had in the end been unable to stop it from happening. The final living moments of her dwarf flashed across her mind for the millionth time and a great sob heaved her lithe body. He was not coming back. He would never look at her, smile at her, hold her ever again for eternity and if he was not here, what was the point of trying to get through it? The pain had not ceased or ebbed away, in fact it had only grown, and Tauriel doubted that it would ever end. She could not go on. She was sitting on the edge of a cliff stubbornly turning her head away from the dark abyss beneath that was trying to swallow her up, only to find that there was a solid wall behind her and no way back to the light.

A small shaft of light pervaded the dusty darkness that smelled strongly of animals, and Tauriel squinted through tear-streaked eyes and turned her head away from it. The familiar tall figure of Beorn stood in the doorway, sillouetted against the daylight shining in from behind, and the she-elf sat up slightly, giving the slightest indication that it was okay to come in. The shape-shifter moved into the room, leaving the door ajar behind him, and found a seat on the three-legged wooden stool beside the bed. A horned and wooly head poked through the door curiously but with a look Beorn sent it retreating sheepishly away. He turned to his guest who had become more like a resident for the past few months.

"I have brought food."

"I'm not hungry," murmured Tauriel, hugging her knees to her chest and not meeting the shape-shifter's eyes.

"Still, you must eat, Tauriel," he insisted, placing a steaming bowl of broth in her hands with a small wooden spoon.

She stared at the food for a few moments, feeling her stomach churn and throat contract. Slowly, she took a small spoonful and brought it inch by tentative inch towards her mouth, but at the last moment she squeezed her eyes shut and let the spoon fall back into the bowl. Beorn was just in time to catch the bowl before it fell from her hands and he watched in concern as the she-elf curled up on her side facing away from him and let wave after wave of shuddering sobs wrack her body. He placed the bowl on the floor and closed his eyes in sorrow and pity as his fingers went to the object he had discovered earlier that day, wedged between two creaky floorboards in a room he hardly went in. He had no doubt who the arrowhead had belonged to, but he did not think that it would be a welcome token for his guest at this time, or perhaps any time.

"Sleep, little one," he rumbled in his low voice, "Rest. The child is sleeping now also and he will not make a noise to disturb you. When you awake you may come and see him."

He knew that his hope was in vain; if anything, the baby had been the breaking point for the distraught mother and for once a young life could bring no healing to the heart. Tauriel would not look upon the babe again.

With the gentleness of an eagle's wing, Beorn lifted a blanket from the end of the bed and placed it over the elf. Instinctively she curled up in its warmth, but it could not warm the ice that seeped through her heart, gradually slowing its beat and quenching its fire that had been dwindling for nine months. The bear-man sat with her until her breathing evened out and the tension in her shoulders seemed to ebb away more than it ever did when she was awake, but he knew there was nothing he could do - there was no medicine that could cure the hurts that had been done to this precious, broken soul.

On the thirteenth morning since the baby had been born, as the first light crept through the crack in the door, a pair of dark and haunted eyes fluttered open for a brief second. The face that looked over them was kind but full of sorrow as it listened to the last, hopeless wish of a dying elf.

Tauriel's voice was little more than a whisper, but Beorn heard it anyway.

"Do you think he could have loved me?"

There was only one answer, and Beorn gave it in one word, but he would never know if she had heard because the next moment the beautiful auburn head drifted to one side and a last breath of air left a body that should have been immortal. With tears in his large dark eyes, Beorn knelt by the mother's bedside until noon that day, mourning for the lives that had been lost and the child who would never know his parents.

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_I have an idea for another two chapters to come after this if anyone wants to read more. They will be much less sad than this, and even heartwarming in a way, I think...the idea is that we all might be able to heal slowly even if we still cry now and again :'(_

_Please review if you have the heart._


	2. Chapter 2

_I promised another chapter, didn't I? Another two, in fact - so there's one more coming! Thank you all for the support you've given this fic that, while short, has apparently managed to make several of you cry. Sorry...not sorry ;)_

_This chapter is a lot more cheerful than the last. I know many of you wanted to know what became of the baby. Well, I have taken much inspiration from the book here...or rather, the book-film inconsistencies centred around Beorn. In the books there are many "Beornings", whereas in the film, Beorn is the last of his kind. In the books, he also has a son, Grimbeorn, who is leader of the Beornings by the time of the War of the Ring. I just kinda put two and two together._

_Just so you know, Dwelf is the technical term. Obviously ;)_

_Enjoy the chapter!_

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The last week of summer reigned over the lush green lands between Mirkwood and the Misty Mountains, bathing the vibrant flowers and singing birds in hazy golden light from early dawn to lingering dusk. From across the wide landscape came two tall figures, one with pale blond hair that was almost silver, the other with shorter, dark hair and dark eyes. They were striding together towards a house that stood alone, away from the small group of cottages that stood on the banks of a small river running down into the Anduin. They had briefly visited the supposed "town", but had been reliably informed by one of the few inhabitants that travellers should declare themselves at the house of Beorn if they were not to be attacked at night by a large and ferocious bear.

The pair passed into the wide, neat garden surrounding the wooden house, pointedly ignoring the distinctly oversized bees that passed to and fro in front of their faces as they walked, and at last came to the heavy doors of the house itself. Raising a fist, the lighter haired and fairer faced of the two stepped forward and knocked thrice.

A couple of barks and a whinny echoed through the house, and the high pitched voice of a child called and was answered by a lower one from further away. Then, slowly, a latch was slid and the doors creaked open.

At first Legolas saw no one except a goat and a dog, standing too far back from the door to have opened it, but when he heard a small person clearing their throat he looked down and saw a child standing in front of him and Aragon, dressed in the manner of the villagers with dark, shoulder length hair that fell across his green-tinted brown eyes.

The grown elf's heart almost stopped in his chest. He had never, in all the fifteen years since he put his home behind him, imagined that he would be faced with this situation. Why here? And why now? Just when he had thought he was able to put old differences behind him, why had he to be reminded so forceably of everything he had stood for? As his jaw dropped, he sunk to his knees in front of the child and brought his hands up to touch the oh-so-familiar face. He could feel Aragorn's puzzled eyes on the back of his head, but he offered no explanation. Some parts of this face he wasn't familiar with, but the rest he had known for six hundred years and there could be no doubting it: this was Tauriel's child.

The father was also obvious, though Legolas did not recognise all the features but rather deduced it from what he knew: Kili, the younger of Thorin Oakenshield's nephews, who had given everything for the home that was never his. He, along with his brother and his uncle, had seen no dawn after the fateful Battle of the Five Armies, the name as it had been spread in legend. Legolas had known of Tauriel's connection to the dwarf, and he had hoped that time would numb the wound it left in her heart, as it had for his father, but he had had no idea that she was with the dwarf's child. As far as he knew, no one had. He had been told, by messengers at Rivendell two years after he had parted with her, that Tauriel had passed away, and he had grieved greatly for her, but further than that he had been told no more, and there had been nothing to ever suggest that there was a child.

The lad looked slightly strangely at the elf who held his face and cleared his throat once more. Abruptly, Legolas dropped his hands but he did not stand up.

"Who are you?" he breathed, though the question was more _what on earth are you doing here and why didn't I know about you?_

"My name is in the language of the Beornings, you won't be able to pronounce it," the boy replied warily, "But you can call me Kee if you like; it's what Da accidentally calls me sometimes. Who are you?"

Legolas stood up, still unable to tear his eyes from Tauriel's child and swallowing the lump in his throat. "Forgive me, we have forgotten to introduce ourselves. I am Legolas and my companion is Aragorn of the Dunédain, and we come seeking one night of warmth and shelter for we have just passed over the Misty Mountains and the journey has been very wearisome."

Kee turned and called back into the house, "Da! _Da! Beorn!_ There are visitors who want to rest a night!"

"What sort of visitors?" came back Beorn's low rumbling voice.

"An Elf and a Ranger," Kee replied, and a moment later a figure taller than either who stood in the doorway appeared from another room, squinting at the newcomers.

"What do you ask for?" Beorn demanded of the pair, and this time the man answered.

"We would be grateful for a night of sanctuary. We are travelling East to the woodland realm and will be gone in the morning."

Beorn looked curiously to the elf at this point, but the pale expressionless face gave no hint as to what he was thinking.

Eventually, the shape-shifter answered, "I will grant you one night of peace and a safe journey to the borders of the wood in the morning. In return, I ask of you nothing but the tale of your journey."

"Then that will be a very long tale indeed," chuckled Aragorn, "For our journey has no beginning. We are Rangers, you see."

"Both of you?" Beorn said with a frown.

"Indeed, I may be neither man nor Dunédain, but I have been wandering this earth for sixteen years and though that may not be a long time to you or I, it is enough that I consider myself to be one of them," replied Legolas.

It took Beorn all of half a second to do the maths and realise the exact time that this elf left his home. "I see there is much more than a journey to be told here," he said, "You must come inside and begin properly."

Kee stepped out of the way then, and with a nod of thanks the elf and the man stepped inside, scraping the mud off their boots as they entered.

In a few minutes, the two travellers were seated at the long, wooden table with honey cakes in front of them and Beorn moving around the kitchen area, asking questions about their most recent journey through the Misty Mountains. Kee sat on the windowsill, kicking his feet and listening intently to their tales of goblins on the road and storms that awoke the Stone Giants. As the story unfolded, Legolas could not keep himself from glancing constantly towards the boy, and a few times he saw the lad staring back but on those occasions he quickly looked away again. The curious look in those eyes was too familiar. It brought back memories of a cheeky, inquisitive, bright eyed Elven lass he had once known.

The chin was definitely the dwarf's, as were the straight black eyebrows that shadowed the eyes; but the nose and the mouth and the expression - they were all Tauriel's. If this boy was fifteen, as was the only possibility, then he was slightly short for his age, but that was only to be expected from a half-dwarf. Legolas' gaze strayed to the hands that gripped the window ledge and he wondered if Beorn had taught the boy any archery. It would be ridiculous not to, when both his parents had been so skilled.

When Aragorn reached the last part of their most recent tale, Beorn turned to his adopted son.

"Run and fetch some water for the kettle, little bunny. We should offer tea to our guests."

Eager to help, Kee sprung up from his seat and grabbed the shiny tin kettle before dashing out of the room at full pelt. Once he was gone, there was a pause in the air before Legolas spoke.

"He is not your son."

"Shrewd of you to notice, young elf," replied Beorn, not turning round from his place at the oven where he was turning round another tray of honey cakes.

"He calls you Da."

Beorn let out an almost inaudible sigh. "That started three years ago, when I allowed the men to build their houses by the river. He decided to adopt their tradition, even though I have told him many times that I am not his true father."

"His father was Kili prince of Erebor. His mother was Tauriel of Mirkwood."

"Indeed," said Beorn, his curiosity growing. "You knew them?"

Legolas bowed his head. "I knew Tauriel. My father raised her from very young. I loved her, but she could not reciprocate. Still, we were very close. I barely knew the dwarf she loved, but he was brave and reckless and loyal to a fault, as was his brother."

Aragorn looked inquisitively at his friend. In all the years that he had known him, Legolas had barely spoken of the people he had known before he left his homeland. At first the young man had pressed for answers, but he had learned in time that any effort on his part would only lead to more pain for the elf.

Beorn did not speak for a while, collecting his thoughts before telling what Legolas clearly was desperate to know. Eventually, he composed himself enough to begin the tale.

"She came here in the spring, fifteen years ago. I found her on the side of a mountain during a storm, weak and hungry, and I brought her back here. She had purposed to find the Shire, but I could not let her leave again in her condition so I kept her here all that summer, forcing her to eat, to rest, to live. She did not want to live. She passed away thirteen days after Kee was born. I have raised him since then.

"I did not name him Kili, for I still remember well every dwarf in that company that sought refuge here that previous autumn, and I still feel grief at the deaths of the King and the young ones. His name is in my native tongue, and can only be pronounced by other races as _Grimbeorn_, yet so often do I see his father in him that I have found my toungue slipping and thus he has taken the name Kee upon himself. I do not begrudge him that, for what better way to remember his father?

"He will want to know more about his parents. I have told him all that I can remember, but please, if there is anything more you can give then he deserves to know. If it pains you too greatly then I understand."

"Nay, it is long overdue that I find myself able to talk about Tauriel freely, without crippling grief," said Legolas, "I will tell him all that I remember. But this has been a shock to me; a night to recover is all I ask, then I shall speak with him in the morning."

* * *

Later, as Aragorn and Legolas spread out their bedrolls on the floor of the small room Beorn had cleared for them, the man turned to his friend and said, "I thought we were leaving at first light tomorrow. How will you find a chance to talk with the boy?"

Legolas sank down heavily into a sitting position and bowed his head. "I am sorry, Estel, mellon nin. I do not think I can do this any more. If you still wish to visit Eryn Lasgalen, you must go alone."

Aragorn moved over to sit next to him and put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "It has been nearly sixteen years, Legolas. I know that is a short time for one of your kind but you said yourself that the words and deeds of that winter are in the past, though not forgotten nor truly forgiven. I understand why you could not return before, but has it not been long enough?"

The elf shook his head and met his friend's eyes. "I thought it had. I thought I would be able to put everything behind me, for a short time, for your sake. But this has been too much of a reminder of why I left, and why I thought I would never go back. I am sorry, Aragorn. I will stay here until you return."

"No, if you will not go then I will remain with you. We will travel down the river to the fair land of Lorien, then on to Rohan, and then through the Gap of Rohan and back to Rivendell. Or we might take the road round the southern tip of Mirkwood and North up the River Running to Dale. I will go where you go, my friend."

"You have wished to see the forest of the green leaves for a long time, mellon nin," replied Legolas, "The Elven path is not far from here and it is guarded for its full length now. You will be safe, and you will get your wish. Perhaps one day I will accompany you there, but this time I cannot. Please, go and make yourself known to the woodland folk. The King already knows who you are and you will receive a warm welcome."

"If I go, I do not know how long I may be," said Aragorn, "If I tarry, what will you do?"

"I will stay in this place," replied Legolas, "whether it is a month or a year. There is much to do here; the village by the river is young and there is much I can teach the people, given time. I also wish to get to know Kee better, for though I see much of his mother in him I can tell that he is very much his own person. I will find no lack of things to do."

Aragorn nodded slowly. "Then I will carry on to the Woodland Realm," he said, "I still wish that you would come with me, but I see now that you cannot. Farewell, Legolas, if I do not have time in the morning."

"Farewell, Estel," Legolas replied, "But there is no need for it yet; I will rise before the sun as always and bid you farewell when you leave."

* * *

Legolas, as promised, was up before Aragorn, and by the silence that penetrated the house and the darkness outside that was slowly fading into dawn, he guessed he was the first to rise. He was wrong. As the elf pulled on a tunic and pushed open the door to the main room of the house, he saw the front door ajar and heard the faint snick of a knife on wood, repeated in a steady rhythm. Curious, Legolas made his across the room and poked his head out of the door.

Kee looked up from his work. "Good morning!" he grinned, seeing the visitor from last night. "Do you want breakfast?"

He was sitting on a three-legged stool with a long piece of wood in his left hand and a whittling knife in his right. The wood was smooth and cylindrical at one end, just the right width to be held comfortably, and the other end, which the dwelf was working on, was broad and flat. Legolas recognise that it would turn into an oar or a paddle of some kind.

"It is too early for breakfast yet," Legolas replied, "But I would like your company for a short time today, if it is not inconvenient."

"Of course it's not," exclaimed Kee, putting the woodwork to one side and sitting up eagerly, "I've never met an elf properly before. Do you really live in treehouses? I had a treehouse once, when I was smaller, but then Da put a beehive in it."

Legolas laughed and pulled up another three-legged stool to sit on, liking the boy already. "In some places we elves live in trees, but not always," he answered, "In my old home, the palace was underground, carved many thousands of years ago with the aid of the dwarves."

Kee frowned. "But I thought elves and dwarves didn't like each other."

"Not generally, no," replied Legolas with a regretful sigh, "They tolerate each other now, but there was a time long in the past where we worked together, towards a common purpose. Then the dwarves became greedy and forgot their loyalties and the ties of friendship they had formed. It is a sad tale stained with the blood of many good people, but I would rather not tell it now. Perhaps one day you will hear it from one who knows it better than I."

"So where do you live?" the boy questioned, not really interested in history. Legolas might have guessed.

"At the moment, nowhere," said the Elf, "And I do not see a time in the near future when I will find a home. I used to live in the forest, over there to the east," he pointed, and Kee nodded knowledgeably.

"The men call it Mirkwood, but Beorn always calls it the Wood of the Greenleaves. He said there used to be a shadow in the south but it's gone now."

"Almost gone; darkness will never truly flee that place, I fear," replied Legolas, "I lived in my father's Kingdom, in the North."

"Wait, you're a Prince?" exclaimed Kee, "Why didn't you say when you came? Does that mean you can do anything you want?"

Legolas shook his head sadly. "Alas, I have not visited my homeland for almost sixteen years. That is longer than your lifetime, if I am right." He glanced sideways at the boy.

"It's my birthday on Tuesday," Kee suddenly beamed, "Da says he's going to make me a fishing rod, like the men have. He can catch fish with his paws, but I'm not very good at it and he says it's about time I started bringing in food other than poisonous mushrooms," he giggled slightly.

"You should be learning to hunt, not fish," said Legolas, raising his eyebrows, "Has Beorn taught you no archery?"

"He doesn't use any weapons," replied Kee slowly, "He has claws and teeth for hunting wargs, and he would never allow me to hurt an animal. I know how to use an axe for chopping wood, but I've never been taught to fight."

Legolas thought for a moment, then replied, "I may end up staying here a while - not necessarily this house of course," he added quickly, realising that he could not simply invite himself to stay in Beorn's house for an extended period of time, "But if I do, I could teach you archery. Only if you want, of course. If Beorn allows it." He suddenly felt a slight nervousness with the worry that Kee might not accept his offer. Of course, it was the boy's own choice, but the idea that the offspring of Tauriel would not want to learn archery was at once ridiculous and frightening to him.

To his relief, the boy's face lit up. "Really? You would teach me?" he breathed with excitement.

Legolas' face split open in a wide smile. "I feel it is my duty. I am certain your parents would have wanted you to learn, and would have taught you themselves if they'd had the chance."

At this, Kee's brown eyes opened wide and he sat forward on his stool, his mouth open slightly. "I know you knew them both, I heard last night. Can you tell me about them? Please?"

Legolas opened his mouth to answer, but that moment the door swung open and the figure of Aragorn stood there, boots on and bags packed for travel. He looked to the dwelf and the elf, and quickly read from his friend's expression that he had interrupted something but that it didn't matter for the moment.

"I took some waybread from your pack, Legolas," he said, "I hope you don't mind."

"You will need it more than I," replied the elf, rising to his feet and looking the ranger in the eye. "I have been told the darkness has retreated, but I still doubt the squirrels are edible."

Aragorn laughed and pulled his friend into a tight hug. "Take care of yourself, mellon nin," he said, "I almost wish I could be staying here with you. I can see you will have a busy time."

Legolas smiled and shook his head, stepping away and placing his hands on his friend's shoulders. "And you too, Estel. Take care, and stay there for as long as you wish. May your journey be safe and may you be greeted with hospitality at the end of it. Farewell, my friend."

"Farewell, Legolas," said Aragorn, and with that he hoisted his pack further up his shoulders and stepped out into the wide world. He looked back several times and at last, just before he went out of sight, he turned and waved, and Kee stood up and waved back.

Legolas looked fondly at the boy who had managed to worm his way into his heart so quickly, and sank back down onto the stool next to him, realising they had the whole morning ahead of them. "So," he said, "Where would you like me to begin?"

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_Please drop a review, let me know what you think :)_


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